APH: Drunk Calling
by Ehren Hatten
Summary: Arthur gets horribly drunk and goes on a drunk calling rampage.


_A/N: this is inspired by a random phone call my friend Alexiel got around 3 or 4 in the morning after she signed off of the messenger and talking to me and our friend Kay in Brunei. It was some random drunk guy that said he was looking for some girl and if she knew her and that she should let this girl into Alexiel's sorority. It got crazier after that, but I'll leave it at that and just write this._

**Drunk Calling**

Alfred F. Jones, the handsome embodiment of the United States of America, was in Washington, D.C. with one of his state girls, Virginia, and playing basketball with her. She was young woman, slightly younger in appearance to Alfred, of medium stature, shoulder length, straight brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and gray eyes. She laughed as she made a basket with the ball and Alfred chuckled as she hopped on her feet in celebration. "Woo! I made it, Alfie!" she yelled excitedly.

"Yeah! I see that, Virg!" he said in his usual cheerful tone. "Hey, this time you won't make it at all!" Then, he laughed and started after her with the ball, but didn't get very far when out of his bag he heard his ringtone ring out loudly "_I AM A REAL AMERICAN, FIGHT FOR THE RIGHTS OF EVERY MAN!_"

He went over to his phone and picked it up, frowning faintly. Then, he grinned when he saw it was his older brother Arthur Kirkland (The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland) that was calling. He answered the phone and put it to his ear, grinning brightly. "Hey! Arthur! What's up? I thought you had like… night time and shit when it was day over here!"

There wasn't much on the other end, however, for a moment and Alfred pressed the phone harder to his ear. "Hey, Arthur? Are you okay, man?" he asked. He heard some yelling in the background and the sound of stumbling. Arthur had somehow managed to get himself kidnapped or something, but that hardly made sense because while the older nation was smaller, he was a hell of a fighter and hard to put down. When he was hit, he just picked himself up and kept going like that until he couldn't get up anymore. It was almost the same in pretty much everything he did. He took hits and just kept going without missing much of a beat.

"Yo! Arthur! Bro! Are you on the line? You okay?" called Alfred. This time Virginia walked over and looked at Alfred curiously.

"Is big brother Arthur okay, Alfred?" she asked, shifting the ball in her hands uneasily.

"Hold on, Virg," said Alfred as he held up a hand to her, "Arthur! Hey!! For the love of God, answer me, man!"

Finally, Alfred was rewarded with Arthur's drunken voice on the line, slurring badly. "Oi! I was… w-was lookin' f… for m'fuckin' colony in the New World, mate. Have y'seen 'im? Oh wait, nevermind, you're the fuckin' bastard tha'… tha' went all independent and fuck all else!"

Alfred sighed and looked to Virginia with a bit of relief. "He's drunk." She rolled her eyes and shook her head while Alfred went back to speaking into the phone. "Arthur, hey, why don't you go home or something, man? I can barely understand you!"

"I am home you fuckin' fuckwit!" snapped Arthur in that horrible drunken slur of his. "Fuck."

"Arthur! Hey! If you're home and stuff, why don't you go to bed and sleep off that alcohol, eh?" asked Alfred, laughing.

"Listen, you ungrateful li'l git! Listen! Listen to me for once in y'fuckin' life!" growled Arthur on his end. Alfred could see him in his mind's eye pointing his finger at the phone like it was Alfred and wavering badly. It just made him laugh more. "I said fuckin' listen, you little bastard!"

"Okay! I'm listening, man! Geez!" Then, Arthur slurred something that Alfred couldn't make out quite readily, but he was pretty certain Arthur said something in affirmation to Alfred listening. "Go ahead, man, get it out!"

"You're a fuckin' ungrateful little fuckwit who couldn't get by wi'out his… his fuckin' diapers being changed and cleaned without my fuckin' help! I gave you fuckin' everything and you fucked… f-fucked me up the fuckin' arse!" Then, Arthur giggled and Alfred sighed heavily. Whenever Arthur got drunk he always, always, always ended up starting up on the American Revolution at some point in his drunken rambling.

"Arthur, just go to bed and sleep it off, man," said Alfred.

"I'm not fuckin' done, you li'l shit!" snapped Arthur. "Y'always… always just come in with whatever y'want to say and never shut th'fuck up!"

"Well, spit it out, man! You're stalling! What do you want to say?" asked Alfred.

"I don' remember," then Arthur hung up. Alfred jumped at the sudden noise of it in his ear and looked to his phone with a sigh.

"What happened, Alfred?" asked Virginia as she looked up at him with those gray eyes of hers.

"Eh, he forgot what he was going to say. He's probably passing out now. Hopefully, he's in bed and not hurt himself," said Alfred. Then, he grinned at her after putting his phone back in his bag. "So, we're tied, yeah?"

"Yeah?" said Virginia with a grin.

He moved really close to her and grinned broadly down at her, the sort of grin that always made her knees melt. "We'll see who breaks the tie before the light goes away," said he before popping the ball up out of Virginia's hands and moving around her swiftly to take the ball, laughing. She laughed as well and chased after him onto the basketball court, going back to playing with him.

* * *

Antonio Fernandez Corriedo, the embodiment of Spain, was asleep. It was a nice dream with plenty of pretty girls, tomatoes and lots of fun music to entertain them all with. A truly very handsome Spaniard, his skin was tanned slightly from being in the sun all the time, his short brown, curled hair messy as he mashed his handsome features into his pillow. And then, just as he was about to have a pretty seniorita in his arms and letting the full fury of his passion out on her pleasantly curvy body, he was rudely awakened by his phone ringing in his ear.

Antonio grumbled a bit and picked up the phone, glaring at it blearily, pouting a bit when he saw after a few seconds that it was Great Britain on the line. He thought about just letting it ring and tossing it off the bed—when had he put the phone under his ear under the pillow, anyway?—but then he turned on the phone and put it to his ear, yawning a bit. "Hola," he said into the receiver.

"Spain?" asked the clearly drunken voice of Arthur.

"Si, it's me, Britain," said Antonio, "What do you want?"

"You squealed like a fuckin' girl out on the ocean, y'little bitch!" shouted Arthur, laughing and hanging up on Antonio. Antonio, to his merit, simply stared at the ceiling above his bed in confusion. Then, he tossed the phone off the bed and snuggled back into his pillow, going back to sleep and dreaming about that sexy woman he had been in the middle of enjoying.

* * *

Francis Bonnefoy, the Republic of France, was entertaining himself. He was in the middle of enjoying a very pretty young woman he had found at an art gallery and asked her if she would enjoy appreciating more artwork with him later. And so, it was in the middle of his appreciation of her artwork that he heard his phone ring. He reached to turn it off, but ended up accidentally hitting the talk button and sighed, putting it to his ear when he heard a voice on it say his name.

"Oui, mon ami," he said into the phone, his breath a little heavy, though the young woman next to him was panting terribly. He wiped his mouth and spoke a little clearer when he heard a mumble on the other end that sounded English. "Arthur? Is that you?"

"FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FROG!" Then, the line went dead.

Francis eyed the phone with some exasperation before the attentions of the young woman next to him suckling at his earlobe demanded he return the affection. Oh, but he was perfectly willing to do that!

* * *

Ludwig, Germany, stared at his phone angrily as it rang. It wasn't Gilbert and he was beginning to wonder where the hell his older brother East Germany had disappeared to, though he had a clue where he might be. He picked it up, giving up for the night on Gilbert—he usually always found his way back to Ludwig's basement somehow without Ludwig noticing somewhere in the night—and spoke into the phone without much of a pause in German, "Hallo? Who is this? State your business, please."

Then, in slurred, almost unintelligible English he heard, "Fuckin' kraut, I'll strangle you one day for that cheap shot you hit me with back in th'… th…. Fuck." It sounded as though Arthur was very drunk and had lost his train of thought.

"Arthur? Is that you?" asked Ludwig in English. He knew Arthur knew several languages—English, Gaelic, Welsh, German, Russian, French, Spanish, Italian, and others—but Ludwig was fairly certain that when Arthur was as drunk as he sounded then he likely had the vocabulary of a turnip.

"Fuckin' right, it's me, you fuckin' muscle-headed kraut! You always think you're so bloody smart, well fuck you! I'm the smartest fucker here, you fuckin' fuckheaded fucker!" slurred Arthur. Then, Arthur hung up. Ludwig rubbed his temple and shook his head before walking up to his room and turning in for the night.

* * *

Aashiyana Singh, the very beautiful embodiment of India, heard her phone ring and picked it up. A lovely woman she was with long, straight black hair pulled into a braid over her shoulder and lovely brown skin. Her eyes, lined in smoky black khol, were as black as her hair save a very thin ring of bright, unnaturally colored green around her pupil, a remnant of her days under Britain's rule. It was the same color as Arthur's eyes.

"Hello?" she said into the receiver. "Who is this?"

"Oi… yeah… you… Aashiyana… you're so beautiful," mumbled Arthur Kirkland on the other end.

"Arthur? Arthur, what are you doing? Have you been drinking?" she asked calmly. She was used to him getting drunk; though he didn't do it quite so often when she was near.

"I'm so fuckin' lonely," slurred Arthur, "Why'd you leave, huh? Why'd you leave me?" He was crying, sobbing ever so softly into the phone. "All I do is take care of everyone and they just fuckin' leave me!"

"Arthur, you should go to bed and sleep," said Aashiyana, as calm as ever.

"Why'd you fuckin' leave me, Aa..aashi.." Arthur trailed off as Aashiyana sighed softly, shaking her head, smiling faintly.

"Arthur, how much have you had to drink?"

"A bottle," said Arthur.

"Yes?"

"And a shot after that."

"And?"

"And then a pint of lager after that and… and three more bottles of Scotch, I think," mumbled Arthur. She frowned a bit in irritation. "Aashiayna…. Rani.." He used the word that she had taught to him from her own language, a name called by the Maharaja to his queen. It never failed to make her smile when he called her that, remembering when, long ago back in World War I, he had told her that if he could marry her as just a man he would in a heart beat. The complication of being the personifications of nations made it impossible for such a thing to occur, of course, but it was a nice, romantic sentiment no less.

"Yes, my Raja?" she said gently.

"You're so beautiful. Y… y'so fuckin' real. You're so gorgeous and real. Other girls, they just giggle and say 'I've got a boyfriend' and move along, but you're not like that. You're so real and gorgeous. We… we should meet up sometime in the dark of night and get negatory," said Arthur, rambling and slurring badly enough that Aashiyana was almost having trouble understanding him. She laughed gently when she pieced it all together, however.

"Arthur, sleep," said Aashiyana.

"Does my voice get you randy, baby? Does my voice make you hot? Eh?" said Arthur, undeterred. She laughed again, but, of course, that didn't stop him from talking. "When's th'next meeting, Aashiyana? W-… we should meet up in a broom closet and get crazy. Make some fuckin' noise. Watch that twit Germany burst a vein in his thick head when he hears us. It'll be great. You know why it'll be great? Because you're great, Aashiyana. You're fuckin' amazing."

"Thank you, Arthur," said Aashiyana slowly so he could keep up, "But I think you should go to sleep. I'll see you sometime soon, all right?"

"Promise? I don't like being alone," mumbled Arthur, sounding more like a little kid than a man.

"I promise, my Raja," said Aashiyana, smiling before kissing the receiver. "Did you hear that? It's a kiss from me, Arthur."

Arthur mumbled on the other end a moment, she could imagine that he was flushing quite red at that. "Arthur?" she asked into the phone.

"I love you, Rani," said Arthur softly. Aashiyana smiled a little, though she wished Arthur wouldn't try to drink the whole of London out of its alcohol supply and die of alcohol poisoning again like he had the last couple of times when he went drinking with his older brothers Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. Thankfully, being what they were, his body just came back to life and he was ushered back home with his brothers laughing about what a pansy he was for dying over something as little as he had drunk.

"I love you, too, Arthur," said Aashiyana. Then, Arthur hung up and Aashiyana put her phone away. Perhaps, finally, if Arthur was doing this sort of thing with more than just her, he was finally going to go to sleep. In the end, all she really could do was hope that was the case.


End file.
